ashes, ashes, we all fall down
by Her Name Is Erika
Summary: It's roughly fifteen million seconds since. Companion to "A Decade Under the Influence"


**A/N: Hi. School's taking my time but I'm here. –crickets chirping- Okay, here we go. **

**Disclaimer: Nope. Just the angst-fest. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Review it?**

* * *

_ring around the rosie  
pocket of full of posie_

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's roughly fifteen million seconds –

Their happy home is now a whole lot of empty space that is hers and _hers alone_. It causes the largest of echoes when the beautifully framed wedding pictures are smashed against the floor. The noise is sharp and oh so poignant and suddenly there's a jagged glass mosaic with tears running down the apples of her flushed cheeks and the blindly woven lies right in front of her are so obvious, so suffocating.

She cries when she feels the shadow of Chase's lips on hers after he's long gone. But she doesn't cry when he come around like a fucking puppy with his head bowed and his tail between his legs. Every so often, the wedding ring Chase slips on her finger in front of lifelong friends, close family and ultimately God, glints back at her just to remind her that it's all a _pretty black lie_.

It's been fifteen million seconds and time painfully peels away. But she's okay.

She smiles like the perfect person she is, politely nods when she needs to, and will lie skillfully in the most silky smooth voice ever because the world will never see her cracked and shattered.

(All she needs are her little white friends. Because those friends won't lie and cheat on her and Zoey will feel all better. _Soon, you'll be okay, _a voice hisses in her pretty blonde head. _Breathe in._

_Soon_, and Zoey breathes out, exhaling.)

– and counting.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The dress was beautiful and of her own creation.

The cake was three-tiered with butter-cream filling in the middle accompanied by chocolate cake.

The centerpieces were pretty with white lilies and yellow hibiscuses, and for a split second, it was just them – just Chase and Zoey completely in love and doing what everyone knew would happen. Michael was best man and Logan brought his new wife, Annie along. Lisa was her matron of honour while Lola was with Vince, standing off to sides. And then Quinn showed up in her bridesmaid dress with her new boyfriend, a doctor like herself named Danny.

But it was all so beautiful and she smiled when her little brother turned younger brother-as-a-police officer hugged her and told her he loved her because she loved him a lot more than he would ever understand.

"God, Zoey," his deep voice reverberated softly in her right ear and travelled down to her heart. She smiled, resting her head slightly on his broad shoulder. "I love you."

"Love you too, Dustin."

She let go of him with a happy grin going from ear to ear and Dustin gave her away knowing their dad was smiling down on her this day. Chase looked into her eyes, promising to love, cherish her until death do they part. Zoey felt like the luckiest girl, absolutely glowing in her dress when he smiled that boyish, nostalgic smile at her and every memory she had of Chase flashed before her brown eyes in that split second.

He said, _I do_, gently running the pads of his thumbs over the back of her hands and there was a ring where her engagement ring sat a year before.

Right after they kissed, declaring them husband and wife, Zoey's eyes ripped open with beads of sweat lining her forehead and her hands slightly shaking. Those damn sleeping pills were in the bathroom medicine cabinet second shelf on the right but Zoey didn't want to get up.

She woke up because their king sized bed was all hers now, and the sheets still smelled like _him_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

Zoey _giggles_ and _giggles_ because her drink is a very pretty colour of iced tea brown and the ice cubes float all clear and carefree. (They'll melt and break soon, disintegrating into water that bleeds through fingers clenched so tightly they ache. They always do and people always leave.)

Throngs of sweaty, nicely-dressed, drunk people are bumping and grinding to the pulsating beat but Zoey just admires the statuesque beauty of her third – no, wait fourth Long Island Iced Tea. They're just really nice to look at. No, she's not sad and drunk, crying and breaking every last remnant of the marriage that cracks and the daughter that never gets to take that _first breath_.

"I have a secret," and her lips curl into a smile while the straw is placed between them. "I'll tell you if you give me another one."

And she's five years old and Nathan the Bartender is her bestest friend in the whole wide world and instead of a seedy club and liquor that burns her throat upon its descent, he's just that kid in the sandbox with the nice shovel and matching pail. Then everything is okay (_ohsweetinnocence_).

Nathan is handsome with dark brown eyes, dark brown hair it almost seems black and he has a strong jaw line. His lips curl into a smile when he glances up from cleaning a shot glass.

"Ah, I'm touched a well-known celebrity like yourself would want to share with me," he says, putting the shot glass on the counter among the other clean ones before planting his palms on the countertop. "But I don't care how beautiful you are. I'm cutting you off."

Suddenly, she's annoyed and seriously not drunk because the double vision, combined with the warm, and glaringly obvious sense of calm is temporary (fuckfuckfuck).

"What kind of bartender are you?"

He laughs softly over the pounding bass and the synthesizers that drive the movement of the club-goers because they're all robots.

"The kind who's a gentleman and won't sleep with you," Nathan replies, and his dark eyes go from nonchalant to kind. "I've heard about your story if you're wondering," he smiles a little and it's another shadow besides his slight scruff. "But go home. You've had a rough night. More than one from what I can tell."

"You don't know me."

Nathan shrugs, making his broad shoulders follow the motion. "No, I don't know _you_ but I know the signs of a deeply hurting person when I see one. There's one frequent costumer here, he exhibits all of the signs of pain and being incredibly wounded. He likes to rent out the place," he adds, wistfully and lets out a resolute sigh. "But I don't run those shifts. Tracy does, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh."

"I'm not a shrink or anything but I know you're sad and hurt. Doesn't take celebrity garbage to crack that wide open. For the record, your husband's a tool for pulling a stunt like that."

Somewhere in the Bartender-Hot Drunk Girl Handbook, this is the part where Zoey agrees to have empty, drunken, meaningless consensual sex and her dress practically peels off of her body. Maybe Nathan doesn't read his handbook well enough. He's _supposed_ to sleep with her. She just wants to feel better and the pills don't work anymore. (Traitors, stupid medicated traitors.)

She blinks twice at him. "Are you sure you're not going to have sex with me? That's a bartender thing to do when there's a girl practically throwing herself in front of you."

Nathan smiles a little more now and brushes his lips softly against the back of her hand.

"It was nice talking to you, Zoey. Even though you are sort of drunk right now," Nathan says, good-naturedly. He directs a nod towards her black clutch purse. "Call someone to take you home. You driving drunk won't fly too well with me, okay? Can't have that on my conscience."

He's not supposed to care. He's just not supposed to care about anything. (No, no. Oh, dear God _no_.)

"Okay." She sounds like a child with blonde pigtails and her favourite lunchbox. "Thank you, Nathan."

Those dark eyes glint and the corners of his mouth twitch. "It's no problem."

She calls the only number she can right now. And her hands just won't stop _sh-shaking_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Margo," Dustin called his British-born girlfriend of nine months. "Would I be a good brother if I just walked up to Chase and just tased him because he _broke_ my sister?"

She turned around from the island, stirring herbal tea for herself but he adamantly refused anything and Margo was simply too tired to argue tonight.

"Yes," Margo answered and sat, resting her free hand comfortably in her cheek. She yawned lightly and rubbed her azure eyes before starting to take careful sips of her green tea. "You would and Zoey would worship you."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"Not tonight, but usually this would have a bit of good-hearted sarcasm in there."

"So, I should just do it, right? Just tase him because he hurt my sister and I'm the only one left to protect her honor," he theorized, while Margo took in some more of her green tea and slightly nodded. "In the olden days, it would have been okay for me to actually kill him. I'd be the good guy in this situation."

Margo laughed quietly, sleepiness evident on her features as wisps of dark brown hair escaped from her messy bun.

"Sometimes, I'm not sure whether to kiss you or kick you in the bum because you're my vigilante," Margo pressed her lips to Dustin's cheek, but then looked to see her eyes substitute for a verbal warning. "But honey, seriously. Don't go off and electrocute Chase. I'm not condoning what he did and in fact, I have a few names for him myself, but I don't want you losing your badge due to overwhelming feelings of obligation. Lord knows we can't live on my barista job alone."

She was right.

And that really pretty accent of hers could melt him and his resolves. Using his fingers, he raked his slightly disheveled hair with a sigh.

"What should I do?" he questioned. "I mean, when we were kids Zoey always protected me even when I wanted her to back off so I could skin my own knees a little. She's," he paused, and Margo rubbed his back soothingly. "She's the strongest person I know and when she calls me at one in the morning sounding drunk beyond belief, then she's just hit rock bottom. She's unraveling with the divorce, the whole infidelity thing and the miscarriage just magnifies _everything_. It's worse because Chase was her everything and I looked up to him," Dustin gazed at his girlfriend. "She's hit rock bottom. Zoey never hits rock bottom. It's just not…her."

"No one's superhuman. Not even her."

"It was nice thinking she was," he muttered. "Now, she's way _too_ fragile."

Margo gently pushed his face so he was looking directly at her and smiled assuredly, "Return the favour, Dustin. If she's protected you, then you do the same and protect her," she encouraged and used the back of her hand to cover another yawn while she stood, half finished green tea in hand. Before she disappeared around the corner and up the staircase, she pressed a goodnight kiss to his lips. "Come to bed soon, yeah?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Maybe it really was time to be a man and protect his sister.

It was time to return the favour.

**.**

**.**

**.**

He meets Chase on a Thursday. And he remembers this because Thursdays are his busiest days. And there are a lot cars _begging_ to be pulled over and searched today, it seems.

"I'm not asking as Zoey's brother because I would have killed you in your sleep this time but I'm asking as a friend because I used to actually look up to you," he admits in normal clothes because he's undercover. All Dustin can do is stare at this shell of a man and wonder what the hell happens. "Do you realize what you've done, Chase? Because of you, it's not just my sister being affected."

"I know that. I will have to deal with that possibly for the rest of my life. I don't blame you for crucifying me."

Dustin glares. "No, you're not pulling that pity, self-loathing card. Now, not only did you gain a son with _Lola_ of all people – "

Something flashes in Chase's green eyes.

"I didn't gain _anything_. I keep count of how old Alex is now – he's nine months old and he said his first word," he says, adding hollow laughter. "And the descent is only deeper because Alexander is the most beautiful baby I've ever seen. He's a very calm baby because he stares and observes a lot," the corner of Chase's mouth twitches. "For a couple minutes, everything was okay when I held him and Alex seemed fascinated by my keys. He smiled at me when I jingled them in front of him. Then Vince comes home to Lola and it all stops. _I'm_ his dad and I have to watch those hazel eyes light up when Vince walks in and Alex calls _him_ da-da."

Dustin bites his bottom lip and gazes into Chase's eyes, he can't help realize this is a man broken and shattered beyond repair. God, it's a scary thing to realize that he and Zoey are alike as a couple in love and scarily similar as one torn down the middle. They're so intertwined and _painfully tangled_ with each other.

Taking a careful breath, he asks, "The gender of the baby Zoey lost when she was four months pregnant. Did you know?"

"No."

"She never not once let it slip angrily in an argument?"

Chase rubs his eyes and slightly grabs at his hair, "No. Dustin, what are you getting at?"

"I lost a niece," he says, slowly because it never really sinks in for him sometimes. "My mother lost a granddaughter, and you," he's trying (_ohhelpmeDadplease_). " – lost a daughter. The baby was a girl."

Chase stares way past him, mouth slightly hanging.

"I had a daughter?"

"Yeah," the word so quiet it escapes on his next exhale.

Sometimes, Dustin wishes he's still fourteen and figuring out the exact function of a latex condom.

(He's not good at this whole _man of the family_ thing. He's just a kid in a police uniform.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

For once, relief came into the form of the warm pool water rushing past her feet with her jeans rolled up beneath her knees. She knew what her daughter would have looked like. Zoey would have named her Lily Dawn Matthews because it was a _unique_ and pretty name to call her next fashion line. Lily was going to have her blonde hair with his curls and defy genetics because there would be bright green eyes staring up at her. And Lily would be the most beautiful baby in the world with her father's _smile_ and her nose. Maybe.

Miscarriages didn't bring _maybes_.

Just a whole bunch of _never agains_ and _definitely nots_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"How could you not _tell me_?"

Zoey remains stone-faced, placing a hand on her hip. "You don't live here, Chase."

"She was mine too," he rebuts, angrily totally ignoring her statement. That's what she tells herself when there aren't enough pictures to burn, and there isn't enough wedding wine to drown the memories of Hawaii, kisses of realization on school steps and marriage proposals in the Boston rain. "She was my child too," he whispers more to himself than her. His silver wedding band looks way too dull now so he doesn't like looking at it – his mistakes, his indiscretions. "Zoey, I would have loved her."

Running her slender hand through her dirty blonde hair, she sighs quietly.

"Get out," she says, a little louder. "You don't live here anymore."

She doesn't want to see the boy she met in eighth grade staring back at her. (Nostalgia's not fair.)

He looks like he's about to cry, "In a perfect world," Chase smiles fondly, because ultimately he can read her so well, and sometimes (_twentyfourseven_) he can read so well and she wisheswisheswishes he won't and just rip the pages out. "What would you have named her?"

Zoey's eyes are filling with tears but it stuns her when the tears are sliding down, moisture showering her cheeks.

"Lily," she says, heart breaking and voice about to go out. "Lily Dawn," she pauses, and adds after a heartbeat. "Matthews."

His arms feel like sadness, memories, regret, security and desolation.

(It's a reflex. Please, it's a reflex.)

"I would have loved that name." He smiles, but it doesn't fully reach his eyes.

"Chase," she quietly sniffles, head resting on his chest. "You don't live here anymore but Lily would have had your eyes."

"And your nose, Zoe."

(He stays for thirty minutes longer than he should and it feels like home.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Just tell me, Chase," Zoey pleaded, despite the sense of déjà vu that hit her so hard. She really wished the problem was just that simple – stolen Tekmates over a text message that wasn't supposed to be seen, and a scavenger hunt that went horribly awry. But it wasn't. It was so much bigger than that. "Look me in the eyes and tell me Lola's baby isn't _yours_. I'll believe you. I'll buy it but please look straight in the eyes and confirm right now that you didn't father Lola's baby."

That horrible baby bump grew almost as fast as the number of nightmares he kept to himself.

"Zoey," Chase countered, being the concerned, faithful husband he swore he would be. It wasn't his fault. It really wasn't his fault. _That's_ _what you tell yourself_, a sneer entered his head and he swore he could hear mocking laughter worse than Logan's. _Horses are pretty animals, Chase – nice to ride off in the sunset on, but remember: horses kick __**really**__ hard_. Taking her right hand, Chase willed his heart to steady as he pointed to the ring that sat on her second finger. "I gave that to you. And no one else. I love you. You know that."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not," he countered, the words slipping off his tongue with frightening ease. "You're pregnant. I'm being concerned."

Zoey's cheeks got redder as she yanked her arm from his grasp. And Chase watched his level-headed, best-friend-of-a-wife morph into a stranger out for his blood right in front of his eyes.

Sniffling, Zoey closed her eyes and took a breath that was supposed to be cleansing.

"Don't dance around the question."

"I don't have any rhythm, remember?"

She only glared, his humor going right over her head.

Yet Zoey softened because he really wasn't about to discard ten years of togetherness, trust and honesty. It wasn't possible. She was expecting him to giving her that trademark smile of his, look deeply into her eyes and practically swear he didn't cause Lola's pregnancy. There was _no way_.

In a voice that was whisper-quiet, she pleaded once again, "Okay, I'm calm. I'm relaxed. Just," she swallowed, thickly. "Just tell me. Baby, I'll believe you."

Lifting his gaze, Chase's heart sank to his feet and the remorse radiating from her husband was too suffocating, too blinding and way too truthful.

The pieces clicked together in her head and she prayed that the tears wouldn't show up.

"Oh my God," Zoey laughed, shaking her head as if to berate herself. "Wow – I thought I was over being so stupid and oblivious," she gave Chase slow mocking applause while he looked at the ground and randomly noted in his head that one of the framed pictures were askew. She was crying from anger, sadness, contempt and there were no words to describe how she felt. "Congratulations, you're officially a dick. Fucking me after fucking Lola," her sarcastic smile fell and her voice disintegrated into the onset of sobs that were justified. "So, is it okay if I go have an affair or two? You know, go screw the really cute mailman, come back to you, and then for kicks, I'll go have sex with Logan and have his _fucking spawn_ because we were friends with him too!"

"Look, I'm sorry and I mean that but I didn't do it out of spite – "

"No, no!" Zoey jabbed an accusatory finger in his chest. "Don't you dare turn this on me! Don't go there!" she broke down, shoulders heaving and her breath catching in her throat. "I hate you!"

"Zoey, I – "

And the loudest smack Chase had ever heard, reverberated through the house and his left cheek nearly burned. Either Zoey had slapped him or the horse had just kicked in the head right about now.

Chase accepted both possibilities.

**.**

**.**

**.**

She's crazy. She's absolutely losing her mind. (Her straight jacket's coming in the mail soon.)

Zoey raps her knuckles against the door and hears Lola's voice on the other side and footsteps in rapid succession.

Lola's standing there looking unfairly great with a bunch of papers in her hands and a blue pen in her hair, holding the bun together. Maybe Zoey should just hop in her car just parked on the curb and leave.

"Zoey," Lola says, stepping aside so she can enter, so she does while holding on to her bag strap. The house feels like love, safety, hugs and security. The brunette offers her an apologetic smile, closing the door with her bare feet and sets the papers down on the mahogany coffee table. "I wasn't sure you'd come when I called you."

Zoey plants herself in the single chair closely situated to the door because she's a coward and maybe a small part of her doesn't want to hear the god-awful, ugly truth.

"Where's your son?"

"He's asleep right now. He has a small cold and hasn't been sleeping well some nights, so I fed him and just managed to get him to sleep," Lola adds shrugging lightly. "Vince is helping me with Alexander so I'm not carrying the burden all by myself."

Tucking a lock of blond hair behind her right ear, Zoey finds herself nodding, "I'm sorry to hear that your son's under the weather. He's beautiful. Michael showed me the pictures you sent him since he's the godfather and all."

"Thank you."

There's a thick silence and she just wants to get down to the truth of it because they're mature women and it's so much bigger than Lola borrowing her clothes and not giving them back.

"So," Zoey gestures to the papers on the centre tables. "What's all this?"

"Just work stuff. Looking through scripts and seeing which schedule will fit me more."

"Oh."

(Zoey Brooks wins the medal for Worst Small Talk Ever.)

Lola sighs heavily, biting her bottom lip, and her eyes are glistening with held-back tears.

"He used both of us."

She blinks in confusion and something similar to anger claws at her insides. "What?"

"He used both of us," she repeats, brushing a stray tear from her brown eyes. "He used you because you were nice. He loved so much and you would have never suspected Chase of having an affair. He used me because I was convenient and right there," she whispers, sounding distant. "I was _always_ right there."

The angry-feeling clawing gets more intense (_stopstopstop_).

"If you wanted him, why didn't you just take him earlier? Why didn't he just follow you to New York after we graduated PCA?" she questions, trying to keep her voice neutral. "I would have been mad. I would have been hurt when Chase and I broke up, but fuck," she bites her tongue so hard; the insides of her mouth start to taste like a bunch of copper pennies. "I would have been _free_."

"No," the slender actress defends, shaking her head adamantly and twiddles her thumbs. "Chase would have never done those things, no matter how much I wanted him. He would have never been open with me because you had his heart and didn't even know it," she pleads with Zoey to understand – understand that she's not a home-wrecker, The Other Woman, or That Actress Slut. Just Lola Martinez – the same from the high school that they still both feel nostalgic about and love. "Once you had Chase's heart and once you reciprocated, then it was game over, and I knew I had to back off. I already learned how to get on with my life without Chase when this happened. I swear."

Zoey tries to open her mouth, but it's like on mute without the reverse function.

"And now," she smiles a small smile that Zoey doesn't buy. Maybe it's Lola acting. Maybe it's not. "Vince and I have reconnected again. It may not be what I want, but it's enough for me to be happy."

"You're settling."

"No," Lola pulls the pen out of her hair and her dark brown tresses fall around her shoulders. "Just giving my love to someone I know will return it just as much. I refuse to be anyone's second choice."

"Oh."

She stands up at her legs feel like jelly, but Lola stands up after her, grabbing the type of denim covered arm before she grabs the doorknob (and drivesdrivesdrives).

"For what it's worth, I'm really sorry, Zoe."

Again, Zoey tries to open her mouth and is intercepted by a baby's cry.

So, she goes for the Tight, Everything's Okay Smile stretching on her glossed lips because she really is okay – everything is (noitsnot).

"Lola, I –," Zoey says, breaking her resolve to stay mad at her a little. "Go take care of your son."

(Here's something you should know: Zoey's still mad at Lola but now, there's a little baby in the mix and she can't hate babies – even the ones spawned from affairs that inevitably wreck marriages.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

_This is a letter regarding the petition for divorce_, it said, as her eyes scanned the typed words over and over. _This letter is to notify the_ **Petitioner** _Zoey Diane Brooks-Matthews that the petition for the marriage to the_ **Respondent** _Chase Bartholomew Matthews to be dissolved has been granted. Please sign the enclosed form and mail it back to confirm dissolution._

_Regards,_

_William J. Avery, Attorney-At-Law_

Zoey found the signature neatly signed and the blank line just waiting, an invitation for her pretty little signature as well.

Signing her signature smoothly in black ink, Zoey folded the letter neatly in thirds and would mail it tomorrow after the sunrise because sunrises always reminded her of him. It just wasn't fair.

Meanwhile, Zoey put on her favourite black dress with the objective of driving herself to the bar for the twenty-eighth time.

"Hi Nathan."

"What'll it be, Zoey?"

She smiled faintly, "Lemonade and a bartender to talk to if you don't mind."

"You got it," he answered with a good-natured smirk, and winked. "Lemonade for you and my ears as an added bonus. Tell Dr. Nate what's wrong, Sunshine."

Smiling, she looked at him amused and chuckled lightly, "You're one complex bartender."

"Stop ambushing me with your flattery and tell me what's wrong, Zoey," and then he looked at her with sincere concern in his face. "I have time."

Zoey had his ears for two hours, and Nathan had her number by the end of the night.

**.**

**.**

**.**

The sun rises the next two mornings after the divorce form thing is mailed, and casts a pretty orange glow all around the room, playing a luminary game of Catch Me on her beige walls. The mirror at the front of the room seems to have a sun-kissed glow around it until Zoey yawns and catches her reflection in the mirror.

(Oh, that's right. It's her first morning as a divorcee and the feeling of well-received sleep is just an illusion, but the bleary-eyed look and the antsy feelings are completely real.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Do you do that whole mysterious, ominous thing on purpose?"

"What?"

"You know, that whole tall, dark and handsome bartender with the closed book vibe I'm picking up from you," Zoey playfully nudged him. "And you know we've talked a lot in just three months, Nathan."

"And this time, you're actually sober and not wanting to jump my bones."

Blushing, she lightly smacked him, "Shut up. You can't use that against me."

"You're no fun."

"God, you're horrible," she said pretending to be irritated with him, and broke out into a smile. "But not so horrible that I can invite you over for a home-cooked dinner at my house tonight?"

Nathan blinked in silent surprise. "Wow. Really? Because last time I checked you were technically married."

"Separated," she corrected, quickly. "And besides, we're friends now. Consider it a friend-date."

"I'm flattered, but – "

"I'll make you my grandmother's apple crumbly for dessert."

"Ah, you've found my Kryptonite. I do have a secret love affair with apple crumbly."

"So, are we friend-dating?"

He sighed, mulling it over, "I hate when you make it hard for me to say no. Consider my book opened and me as your friend-date."

Zoey smiled genuinely for the first time in three months and hugged him, "You're awesome, Nate."

Nathan hugged her back, naturally. And he took the term naturally _literal_. It was literally natural – that hug. And he was left with the scent of mangoes and peaches when she left.

This was delightful and sort of weird.

**.**

**.**

**.**

"Now that you're divorced from Chase officially," Margo's advises, softly while she fiddles with her wedding ring. Her house is suddenly too big. "You have to cleanse yourself from him."

"Cleanse?"

Margo nods adamantly, sipping her tea. "Of course! You don't forget your first love, but honey," her hand goes over hers, comforting and warm. "You've got to move on. I won't pry but Nathan seems great and you're healing. That's the first step – just mend yourself and take time."

Zoey looks into her blue eyes, voice small, "How will I know?"

(Because Zoey's not perfect, and she doesn't have all of the fucking answers.)

The brunette grins, "You'll know. I've been there when I met your brother, I was alone. My mum and dad wanted me to go to Cambridge University to become a doctor. Instead, I quit school to be with my boyfriend, Peter. I even married him for like three months," Margo explains. "Until I found it was built on lies and he was cheating on me."

"With another girl," she sighs. "Story of my life."

Rolling her eyes, Margo shakes her head, "I wish. The bloody bastard was gay and cheated on me with a guy. The marriage was dissolved but my parents had already disowned me for getting married in the first place."

"Oh my God. That's horrible!"

"I guess it serves right for marrying a gay guy but I said screw it to my family and flew across the pond here," she giggles, shaking her head. "To be completely truthful, I met your brother when he pulled me over for speeding, but I kept speeding on purpose so I could get to know him."

"Nice," and that's the truth. This one's a keeper. Zoey sighs, heavily. "So, where do I start 'cleansing myself' of Chase?"

Margo moves over to the chair beside her, tea really irrelevant at this point, "Right now. Starting with the ring. It's gonna be hard but you have to take it off."

Her bottom lip quivers, her heart skips, her eyes are typically shining with tears because she breaks and shatters a lot but Zoey's, for once, totally, completely shit at hiding.

(It's the deepest and ugliest tan line she's ever seen, and it'll _all hers_.)

Margo sighs, getting emotional, "You're going to leave the ring in the middle of the table and then cry on my shoulder for as long as you need to."

So Zoey cries because she leaves her Barbie lunchbox on the school bus.

(_and it's reallyreally over_.)

(There are no such things as pretty tan lines.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

_ashes, ashes.  
we all fall down._

* * *

**A/N: YES! It's over and done with! I had a fucking blast writing this angst ridden ride. It's a companion piece to "A Decade Under the Influence" by Underneath All Elsewhere, which was in turn a companion to my "Neurotic". See the chain reaction there? Ha! Go read and review Ariana's piece. It's really deep and the review count doesn't do it justice. Seriously, go read if you haven't. Really powerful stuff. **

…

**Ariana, this is for you. It was an honour working with you and I hope you love this piece. **

…

**Reviews? None of that favouriting and not reviewing crap, I'm prepared to start PMing people who do this. It's really irritating when this is done. You have an opinion. Use it by clicking that button! All the cool kids are doing it now. **

**Goodnight. Bedtime.**

**-Erika **


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